My rigid frame trembled and shivered as his ghostly words battered her until my darling was left, shattered in pieces, on the bitterly cold vinyl. I’d been there several times before, clinging on to her neck while he began to twist my chain. Tighter and tighter. Not enough. He wouldn’t stop. And as he screeched songs of terror into her face, she fell in love with him all over again. She would love him, even with his hands around her neck. It had happened so frequently, the amorous propaganda of devotion and fidelity, that she had learned to adore his evil. I would even go as far to say that she survived on it. She’d inhaled it more times than marijuana. It had consumed her more times that acid and even though every trip was dissolute she’d manage to stay sane enough to anticipate the three seconds of ecstasy that would submerge her at about 2:52am. I was there through all of it, the only recollection she’ll ever have of those insufferable nights. So here I am, smashed on the floor, her memory in shreds of shamefulness.